


the sympathy of one living being

by dollsome



Category: Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Female Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-06 05:47:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21221579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollsome/pseuds/dollsome
Summary: Anne and Josie have a conversation. Set after 3.06.





	the sympathy of one living being

**Author's Note:**

> I just had so many bittersweet feelings after this development in the most recent episode. Aaaah, my heart! Aaahhh, my Avonlea schoolhouse girls!
> 
> In keeping with the s3 theme, the title is from Frankenstein!

****It’s meant to be a perfect day, a balm to the soul after all the recent misery. Anne makes Mary’s cake again, this time with clear sinuses and only after having Matthew and Marilla smell every ingredient along with her to ascertain that they are what they’re labeled. She and Diana make plans to have a picnic for all the schoolhouse girls beside the Lake of Shining Waters; that way, they can eat the cake in the place that it pays tribute to. Cole and Aunt Josephine are visiting from Charlottetown for the event, and they’ve brought delicacies from the city’s most elegant cafe to put on top of Mrs. Barry’s fine china.

It takes a great deal of persuading to get Mrs. Barry to let them invite Josie, but Anne is equal to the task. She’s happy to be relentless--annoying, even--for a good cause. Finally, Mrs. Barry relents.

“She’s always told me not to get too mixed up with Billy Andrews,” Diana tells Anne afterward. “She knows he’s no good.”

“And still I had to nearly fight a duel to get Josie invited to a picnic.”

“It’s just the way things are, Anne,” Diana says sadly. “You can’t expect grownups to change their minds all at once.”

“Why not? Matthew and Marilla are completely sympathetic to Josie’s plight. And your mother is a woman. She should know deep in her bones that it’s not right--”

“She’s not just a woman. She’s a lady.”

“Sometimes I think being ladylike is the cleverest cage this world has come up with to trap us in,” Anne fumes. “And so many women don’t even see it.”

“Or they do see it,” Diana counters wistfully, “but the world beyond the cage is too frightening to contemplate.”

Anne frowns. “I don’t understand that.”

“Of course _ you _ don’t,” Diana says, reaching out to fondly tug a lock of red hair. “But what about the rest of us?”

_ I am no bird and no net ensnares me, _ Anne thinks to herself as she walks home. _ I am no bird and no net ensnares me. I am no bird and no net ensnares me. _ Over and over again like a prayer, searching for strength in those beloved old words.

But it isn’t true. Not entirely. The net is there. She feels more aware of it with each year that passes.

What they need are wings strong enough to burst through it and carry them to the endless skies.

+

On the day of the picnic Jerry walks Anne to the Barrys’ to transport the cake, a courtesy that Anne insists a million times is unnecessary. She doesn’t know what’s gotten into him lately. It seems he’s always smiling. She’s starting to think he might be smitten with Diana. Then again, who could blame him? If there’s a more beautiful creature on this earth, Anne can’t imagine her.

As the other girls begin to arrive, she feels the familiar excitement that accompanies any party, never mind that this one will no doubt be uncomfortable. If Josie Pye is going to despise her forevermore, well, at least Anne will be despised outside in the sunshine on an exquisite summer day, listening to Ruby rhapsodize to Cole about Moody Spurgeon’s perfect eyebrows. (To each their own, it seems. Anne tries not to laugh at Cole’s politely befuddled expression.)

Josie never shows up.

“Probably for the best,” says Jane a half hour after the picnic’s begun, helping herself to a cucumber sandwich.

“Will you stop?” Anne snaps. It’s no good to start a party with snapping, but she can’t help it. “You know what your brother is like.”

“You didn’t have to follow them around for months listening to their inane flirting. I know that Billy is a boar and Josie didn’t deserve him pawing at her, but you should have seen how she hung off his every word and fluttered her eyelashes. She would have swooned over him belching. What else was the idiot supposed to think? Believe me, if you were in my position your sympathy would be limited too.”

“No it wouldn’t,” Anne says darkly, getting up.

“Anne, where are you going?” Diana calls. The other girls’ voices chime in with hers. Cole just watches, understanding. Aunt Jo is inside with the adults, but if she wasn’t, Anne thinks she would understand too. Josephine Barry has no time for convention either. If only everyone could be like her. Why must so many adults be so trapped in their own narrow minds? Now that her friends are growing up, they’re beginning to suffer the same grim fate.

Anne walks until she reaches the woods, meaning to go to the Pyes’ house. Once she’s within the safe haven of trees, away from the exhausting mess of people, she stills. Breathes in and out. These days, it’s so much easier to see the beauty of the world in nature than in society. What a heartbreaking thing. Perhaps that’s what growing up really means, not styling your hair or swooning over dancing with boys. Seeing that life is full of as many sorrows as joys, and almost all of them come from human choices.

Thinking that, she can’t quite bear to go on to the Pyes’ just yet. Instead, she keeps walking deeper into the woods, hoping that it will soothe her weary spirit. If she walks long enough, she’ll find that part of her that feels farther away these days, the one that’s so sure about the magic buried deep in the center of living.

Speaking of magic, or at least eerie coincidence:

There, sitting on a log in the near distance, is a familiar blonde figure.

“Josie?” Anne says.

Josie turns. Her face is blotchy. In her hands, she’s holding a copy of the Gazette. It surprises Anne. She’d thought the drama over the paper had already blown over. Josie had certainly made her rage known at Anne’s article last week, and Anne had fully prepared to get the silent treatment at the picnic (or perhaps some raspberry cordial poured over her head). The fact that Josie is still holding the paper, clutching it while she weeps, makes Anne’s heart ache.

Technically, Josie has won. Billy apologized to her publicly at the church picnic -- if “I’m sorry if I upset you and you misunderstood my intentions” can be counted as an apology -- and then left town to go stay with relatives in the city under the guise of furthering his education in business. Everyone in Avonlea has seemed to reach a quiet understanding that Josie Pye will be tolerated, if not much more. (“Boys will be boys -- some nastier than others, granted -- and it’s up to girls to know how to deal with it,” Rachel Lynde said decisively while having tea with Marilla a few days ago. “It’s not always pretty, but it is what it is. The whole mess is over now. Let us pray the girl’s learned some sense from it.”)

If it’s a win, it’s a bitter one.

“We haven’t had a chance to really talk about it yet,” Anne says tentatively, gesturing to the paper.

Josie sits up taller, sniffling. “I haven’t wanted to talk to you.”

While Josie folds the paper up and sets it down beside her, Anne says, “I didn’t use your name. I meant for it to be a more universal call for Avonlea to acknowledge the injustices against women.”

“It doesn’t matter. Everybody was at the dance.”

“I know.” Anne’s stomach sinks. “Did-- did Miss Stacy talk to you? I know that she intended to. She said that my heart was in the right place, but that I shouldn’t have let my anger drive my actions without stopping to think.”

Josie wipes her cheek. “She tried to call. More than once. Mother wouldn’t let her in. She thinks that that’s part of why it happened. You can’t expect a woman who wears trousers to keep the schoolhouse in good moral standing.”

Anne sits on the log beside her, half-expecting to be hit at any moment.

The blow doesn’t come. Instead, after a long silence, Josie asks, “Why did you do all this? You know I don’t even like you.”

“It was a matter of honor,” Anne answers with dignity, “and those always transcend petty schoolhouse squabbles.”

Off Josie’s look, she adds, “And you like me at least a little.”

“You wish,” Josie says, but her usual disdain isn’t in it.

They sit in silence, listening to the alive sounds of the woods around them. To the trees and the sun and the woodland creatures and the babbling brook, Anne thinks, she and Josie are just another part of the summer day. Reputations mean less than a speck of dirt here in the truth of things.

If only people could be as wise as the world that cradles them.

“I know what it’s like,” Anne says, “to have someone hurt you.” She’s been meaning to say this out loud to Josie, but she hadn’t had the strength. It always hurts so much to remember. But here in the sweetness of summer, held by nature, the words come when she needs them to. “I know what it’s like to want to get away more than anything, but being frozen. Hoping it will be over soon. Feeling like it never will be. I wouldn’t wish that feeling on anyone.”

Josie shivers, out of place in the warmth. Anne feels it against her arm. Feels it in her heart.

“Of course you know what it’s like,” Josie says.

Anne bristles.

Josie sighs. “I don’t mean it like that. Bad things happen to orphans. Everybody knows that. It’s sad, but it’s true. But I did everything right. It wasn’t supposed to …”

“When the world is wrong,” Anne says, “it doesn’t matter how right we’ve been. It’s Billy’s fault, not yours.”

Josie is quiet for a long time. Anne thinks of putting an arm around her, but remembers how she would flinch at the thought of being touched back in the orphanage or at the Hammonds’. So instead, she just sits, still but close enough to touch if Josie reaches out. The friend Anne always wished she’d had.

“All the girls hate me,” Josie says.

“They don’t,” Anne protests.

“They do,” Josie insists. “And they should. I would hate them too, if the tables were turned.”

“I know Diana like I know my own soul, and I know she could never hate you over something like this,” Anne says firmly. “And the other girls, they just don’t understand. Or they didn’t. I hope what I wrote helped them to see how horrible society’s stupid obsession with virtue is.”

“Virtue is important,” Josie protests.

Anne considers it. “I believe that virtuousness of heart and character matter. But what should that have to do with whether someone’s touched us or not? Especially if it was a touch we never wanted and recoiled from.”

“Men deserve to know that their brides are chaste.”

“But we don’t get to ask the same of men? That’s not fair.”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s fair. It just _ is_.”

“Maybe virtue is like love,” Anne muses, “and it can only be bestowed on someone we cherish, who cherishes us in turn. Billy couldn’t really touch your virtue. He wasn’t worthy of you for a second.”

Josie looks at her with sad, shining eyes -- wanting to believe her, Anne can tell.

Anne gives her a slight smile.

“I guess I ought to make new plans for the future now that Billy won’t have me,” Josie says then in a pretty good approximation of her usual sarcastic tone. “Your mother can give me tips on life as an old spinster.”

Anne laughs shortly. “You’d be lucky to have one tenth of Marilla’s goodness and poise.”

“I suppose I’d like to learn to bake as well as she does. Without a husband, I can eat all the plum puffs I want. No one will care.”

“They _ are _extraordinary plum puffs.”

Clearly in spite of herself, Josie asks, “Are there any at the picnic?”

Anne smirks. “You’ll have to come back with me and find out.”

Josie looks tempted for a moment, then loses her courage and scowls. “I was only kidding. I’m not going to give up on myself just yet. Even though no decent boy will ever have me now.”

“Maybe we need to move on from boys,” Anne says. It’s something she’s been thinking over very carefully lately. “We’re so sure our futures are tangled up in who we’ll be with. But what if we take charge of our destinies ourselves? It seemed so possible that night at the bonfire, didn’t it?” The corner of Josie’s mouth curves up, just barely. “And if we meet a worthy companion, a true kindred spirit to join us on life’s journey, then that’s wonderful. But even if we don’t, can’t our lives still be wonderful?”

“It’s hard to imagine a wonderful life without a roof to live under,” Josie grumbles.

“Maybe we work.”

Josie makes a face. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I mean it,” Anne insists, excited. “Miss Stacy works and lives alone and is entirely the mistress of her destiny. There are women journalists, and women doctors. The world is changing every day. Why shouldn’t we change with it?”

“Even if the world is changing,” Josie says, “that doesn’t mean Avonlea is.”

“So we venture beyond Avonlea.”

“Avonlea ladies don’t venture beyond Avonlea.”

“Yet,” Anne corrects her. She turns to stare right into Josie’s eyes. “You’re a formidable force, Josie Pye. I think you have just what it takes to steer your life in whatever direction you want. And if that involves a husband, that’s fine. But just know that you’re worth so much more than Billy Andrews.”

Josie stares back at her. Anne thinks it might be the longest she’s ever stared at anyone without rolling her eyes or fluttering her lashes.

“Thank you,” Josie finally mutters.

The words are barely audible, but Anne decides to count them as hard-won treasure all the same.

“You’re welcome,” she says, knocking her shoulder against Josie’s.

Josie smiles in spite of herself.

There’s the sound of feet crunching through brush. Anne turns to see Cole and Diana walking toward them.

“What’s he doing here?” For once, Josie’s tone isn’t judgmental.

“He came with Diana’s aunt,” Anne explains. “I think he wanted to see you after he heard about what happened.”

Josie’s face quivers for a moment before she gets ahold of herself.

“There you are,” Diana says, every bit the gracious hostess. “Come on. All of the lovely food Aunt Josephine and Cole brought us will be spoiled if we wait to eat much longer.”

Cole walks up to Josie. For a moment, they only look at each other. In their eyes is a conversation that Anne can’t begin to understand: a deep hurt that’s a sadder kind of kindred. Then Cole offers his arm, and Josie takes it.

“He wanted to come with me,” Diana says in an undertone to Anne as they set off a few tactful steps behind.

Anne nods. “I suppose he’s the one who understands the most what Billy’s like.”

“How is she?”

Anne considers Josie, looking at the perfectly placed bow in those blonde curls as she and Cole converse with stilted politeness. “Stronger than she thinks.”

“It’s hard for someone to be anything else when they’re friends with you,” Diana says, resting her head affectionately against Anne’s.

At the words, Anne’s heavy heart lightens. “Do you really think so?”

“Of course.”

“I would love that.” Anne stares up into the canopy of green leaves, feeling right among them, sun-kissed and divine. “To think I could bring some little bit of courage to someone’s life when they need it most. To make them feel dauntless.”

“It sounds like you’ve already found your destiny,” Diana says, squeezing her hand.

Anne smiles at her, squeezing back. “Maybe I have.”


End file.
